The Way Back to You (11 page)

I stab at the evil, taunting icon, and play Jade’s message on speaker as Kyle and I curve over the table.

“Hey, Cloudy. I’d like to congratulate you on this invisibility thing. Your sister called in some bizarre attempt at damage control, and she told me that everyone thinks you’re in my house right now. With Ashlyn’s boyfriend? So that’s cool, but I figure since Zoë’s not spilling any more details, you better poof yourself into reality.
CALL ME BACK.
”

Kyle remains quiet as I bite down hard on my thumbnail
and stare out the window. Two little kids streak by, towing a golden retriever along with them. “I am going to destroy my sister.”

“It sounds like she was trying to help.”

Rubbing my eyes, I say, “What should we do?”

“What do you want to do?”

Could things get much worse for us if I ignore Jade? If I don’t call her back, she might tell her parents, or my parents, or someone on the squad, and this trip will be over. She might never speak to me again.

I focus on everything Jade’s ever mentioned about her house, like how it’s near the ocean, and there’s a big bird-of-paradise plant out front, and that it definitely has a shower.

Taking a deep breath, I sit up straight. “I think we should go to the beach.”

D
EAR
P
AIGE,

I
T HAS BEEN A MONTH SINCE
I
RECEIVED THE GIFT OF YOUR DAUGHTER’S ORGAN DONATION.
P
LEASE ACCEPT MY DEEPEST SYMPATHIES FOR YOUR LOSS.

M
Y NAME IS
F
REDDIE AND
I
AM IN MY MIDFIFTIES AND MARRIED.
B
EFORE MY LUNG TRANSPLANT,
I
WAS UNABLE TO DO THE THINGS
I’
VE ALWAYS LOVED, SUCH AS RUNNING, GOLFING, AND TRAVELING.
E
VEN THE MOST BASIC OF TASKS HAD BECOME AN EXHAUSTING CHORE.
G
ETTING DRESSED AND WALKING TO THE MAILBOX WERE TOO TAXING ON MY BODY.

I
THOUGHT THERE WERE NO WORDS FOR WHAT THIS TRANSPLANT HAS GIVEN ME, BUT THERE IS.
O
NE WORD: LIFE.
L
IFE AND ALL IT ENCOMPASSES.
I
CAN NOW DO THE THINGS THAT
I
WAS INCAPABLE OF BEFORE.
M
Y WIFE AND
I
JUST RELOCATED TO A DIFFERENT STATE AND BOUGHT A NEW HOUSE, A DREAM OF OURS FOR YEARS.
I
N THE SPRING, WE WILL CELEBRATE OUR THIRTIETH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY WITH AN EXTENDED TRIP TO
A
USTRALIA AND
N
EW
Z
EALAND.
T
HE ITINERARY INCLUDES HIKING, SAILING, SNORKELING, AND PERHAPS EVEN SURFING LESSONS.

W
ITHOUT THE TRANSPLANT, NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN POSSIBLE FOR ME.
E
VERY BREATH
I
TAKE IS A TESTAMENT TO
A
SHLYN’S GENEROSITY, AND SHE AND YOUR FAMILY WILL ALWAYS BE CLOSE IN OUR HEARTS.

I
LOOK FORWARD TO HEARING FROM YOU AGAIN.

M
OST SINCERELY,

F
REDDIE

“
R
eady?” I ask, removing my key from the ignition.

Cloudy gestures at her lap, where Arm is sleeping. “How can I be ready for anything when all this cuteness is happening?”

She pulls down the visor, which illuminates the inside of the vehicle. With no urgency whatsoever, she digs inside her bag. I bounce my legs and drum my fingers on the steering wheel.

Jade lives in Santa Monica, but asked us to meet her fifteen miles inland at an all-ages club to see her girlfriend’s band. I’m never in a huge hurry to get to something like this, but I was dealing with Arm’s litter box while Cloudy made a run for the bathroom at our last I-5 rest area visit. I thought I’d be fine not stopping again during these last few hours. Let’s just say I was mistaken.

“I really am dying to shower,” Cloudy says, dabbing her lips with a pinkish-colored makeup crayon.

Mostly, I’m dying to pee, but I don’t want to announce it. “Thirty-six hours and counting.”

Cloudy puts her lipstick thing away and removes her seat
belt. I spring to action, gently taking Arm from Cloudy’s lap. I set her on the Pillow Pet in the backseat, careful not to wake her.

The fact that Arm is so laid-back makes me think she can’t possibly be Ashlyn, who was this high-energy control freak, always sweeping up the rest of us in her plans. Then again, maybe Arm’s calmer than every other kitten in the history of kittens because she already knows Cloudy and me?

Over my shoulder, there are no approaching headlights, so I pull open my door and step onto the street. Cloudy still hasn’t made a move to get out. She has, however, removed her hair tie and is combing her fingers through her long hair.

“I hope it’s okay that I’m not dressed for going out,” she says. “LA clubs are picky about that in movies. Jade would have mentioned if there was a dress code, right?”

I’m in jeans and one of the new shirts I bought at the mall in Stockton this morning (I also got dress clothes to wear to the wedding later this week), and Cloudy has on a T-shirt, a loose skirt, and sandals. “I think you’ll be fine. But the thing is, could you maybe hurry up? I need to go. Like, really. Like,
now
.”

Her expression turns distant for a second, like she can’t understand why I, of all people, would be talking like this. Then her eyes widen. “Oh! You mean the bathroom? Why didn’t you say so?”

In an instant, she’s climbing out with her bag over her shoulder. We slam our doors in unison and I jog to join her on the sidewalk.

The GPS showed us approximately where the club is, but we had to park a couple of blocks away. As we’re speed walking
under palm trees and streetlights, we pass tiny single-story homes filling the space between large two-story apartment buildings. Cloudy pulls out her phone after we turn the corner onto North Gower Street. “So Jade’s text says that AMPLYFi doesn’t have a sign out front, but the entrance is a green door in the alley behind Astro Burger.”

Quickening my pace, I chant in my head:
Get to the green door. Get to the green door.

Cloudy runs to catch up, giggling. “Who’d have guessed that my first time in Hollywood, I’d be by the
real
Melrose Avenue standing across the street from the
real
Paramount Studios, hurrying straight into a dark alley?”

At the green door, a guy in a black shirt with the thickest arms I’ve ever seen in real life blocks the way. “I have to wait until this song ends to let you in,” he says. “Noise ordinance laws.”

I give Cloudy my most pained expression.

“Maybe you can run and use the bathroom at Astro Burger?” she suggests.

“It’ll be quicker to wait,” the bouncer says. “The band tonight is this all-chick Beatles tribute band. Luckily for you, they finished the long one, ‘Hey Jude,’ two songs ago. They’re partway into ‘Can’t Buy Me Love,’ so you’ve got maybe a minute and half, tops.”

“Okay,” I say.

I try not to squirm, and finally, after the longest ninety seconds of my life have passed, he pulls the door open, revealing a long, rectangular room below, about the size of a three-car garage. With several dozen people clapping for the band and
facing the stage with their backs to us, the club is at about full capacity. Cloudy follows as I race down the staircase to the cement floor. Once I’ve handed a woman with purple-streaked blond hair the money for admission, I get directions to the restroom, which happens to be about six feet directly behind me. I hurry off without another word.

When I come out again, feeling much better about life, I take a quick look around for Cloudy. The way this place is arranged is like being in someone’s very large, very cool, very crowded living room. It’s partially lit up with lava lamps, paper lanterns, and spotlights pointed at the stage. There are also weird pictures and framed gold records on the walls, mismatched tables and chairs, and a red velvet couch. Nothing goes together, but somehow, in this room, it all works.

Cloudy is studying a painting. She really had no reason to worry about her clothes; some girls are in flashy dresses and heels, but she looks just as good.

The music and singing are loud, so she raises her voice when I approach. “Pick one!”

She holds up two kazoos, printed with the words: She Loves You.

I take the yellow one and my voice becomes buzzy and Donald Duck–like as I lean close and speak through it by Cloudy’s ear. “Now the question is, who is ‘she’ and what exactly does she love about ‘you’?”

Cloudy uses her own purple kazoo to answer. “It’s the name of Jade’s girlfriend’s band.” She switches back to yelling. “The girl at the door told me ‘She Loves You’ is from a Beatles song.”

We turn toward the band, and I stand as tall as possible so I can see over everyone. The four girls onstage are our age, wearing matching white blouses, black ties, black skirts, and black vests. One of them repeats “all right” over and over, and the song ends to applause and kazoos. Once the noise dies down, they go straight into the next song, with two of the girls singing “Help!” into the microphone they’re sharing.

I don’t listen to a lot of oldies, but I do vaguely recognize these songs. “You texted Jade?”

“Yes.” Cloudy pulls out her phone for a quick glance. “No response yet.”

“Should we look for her?”

Cloudy nods. As she weaves around people to get nearer the stage, I stay close, keeping my hand lightly on her shoulder so we don’t get separated. I spot Jade at the front just as she’s turning her head in our direction.

Jade moved from Bend to California the summer between freshman and sophomore year, which was the same summer I moved to Bend from Arizona. We missed each other by a few weeks, but I’ve heard a lot about her and recognize her from Ashlyn’s camp pictures taken last summer.

“There she is,” I tell Cloudy.

Beneath my hand, her shoulder goes stiff.

Jade’s dark brown skin and thick, wavy black hair look the same now as in her photos, but it turns out she doesn’t grin nonstop in real life. In fact, the slight lift of her mouth reverses as recognition sets in. Jade’s eyes brighten with tears and she rushes to fold Cloudy into a long hug.

While it’s happening, Cloudy stands very straight, with one
arm hanging limp and the other curved up to rest on the back of Jade’s lacy top. Jade finally lets go and dabs at her eyes. “I wasn’t expecting that to happen!” she calls out over the music. “I’m so happy you’re here!”

“Me too!” Cloudy says. “Kyle, this is Jade.”

Cloudy’s trying to act normal, but it’s all over her face that she feels uncomfortable.

Jade and I smile and shout, “Hi!”

Then Jade hooks her arm through Cloudy’s. “You want to stay for the rest of the set or head outside where it’s easier to talk?”

Cloudy casually pulls free, gesturing at the stage. “This is our one chance! We can’t miss Theresa’s band.”

“Prudence, actually.”

“What?”

“Theresa’s stage name is ‘Dear Prudence’!”

“Let me guess,” Cloudy says. “From a Beatles song?”

“Exactly!” Without further discussion, Jades flashes another smile, and then eases back into the space where she was standing before. A few people make room so Cloudy and I can crowd in behind her. (Which is nice—especially considering that most of them are shorter than I am.)

“Hey, everyone!” the lead singer says into her microphone. “We have a few more. If you grabbed a kazoo, this next song is when we need your help the most. Whenever we ‘dood’n doo-doo,’ you know what to do!”

The girls sway with their instruments and launch into “Here Comes the Sun.”

Today was a good day, but maybe meeting up with Jade was
a mistake. Cloudy and I had fun sneaking Arm into the mall in the duffel, taking turns driving, and making jokes about each other’s playlists. But encountering Jade has made Cloudy tense, which makes me tense.

As the song picks up speed about two minutes in, Cloudy elbows my ribs. She’s smiling and singing along—something about feeling ice slowly melting. At the next chorus, I’m quick to “Dood’n doo-doo” into my kazoo. She laughs, and when she sings “It’s all right!” I hope it’s safe to believe her.

SHE LOVES YOU is about to wrap up and Jade’s girlfriend is speaking to the audience once more: “Thank you, AMPLYFi, for letting us play your amazing stage! And thanks to all of you for coming! Now, I’m going to let you in on a little secret: Sexy Sadie”—she points at the drummer—“Eleanor Rigby, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”—she nods at the two sharing the front of the stage with her—“and myself are pretty fond of a band you might have heard of. They’re called the Beatles?”

The crowd whistles and kazoos in response.

“Now, these girls and I also happen to adore a song the Beatles recorded, which is
not
an original of theirs. So the other day I said to myself, ‘Dear Prudence’—because that’s what I always call myself—‘Dear Prudence, what could possibly be more meta than a kick-ass Beatles cover band doing a kick-ass cover of the Beatles doing a kick-ass cover?’ I couldn’t think of
anything
. So, for our last song, I want every one of you to ‘Twist and Shout’ with us!”

This time when the music starts, the energy onstage and throughout the room ramps up even higher as everyone jumps around and swings their arms.

Spinning to face Cloudy, Jade yells, “Let’s twist! Come on. You too, Kyle. It’s easy!” She motions at her jeans and demonstrates bending her knees a bit, while also turning her waist rapidly as if she’s working an invisible Hula-Hoop.

Lifting her eyebrows, Cloudy looks at me like
Should we humor her?

I shrug like
I’ll do it if you will.

Then I just go for it, and Cloudy joins in, which earns us both grins from Jade.

At first it’s awkward and I can’t help laughing at myself, but soon I find a rhythm. Cloudy and I are getting bumped on all sides, so we move in closer. We aren’t exactly dancing
together
, but we
almost
are, and my stomach flip-flops with this realization. My heart beats way faster than it should and everything in my periphery goes blurry and all I can focus on is how Cloudy’s T-shirt and skirt move as she moves, how she’s smiling up at me, how her blue eyes are locked on mine, how beautiful her face is, and—

“We love you!” Theresa/Prudence shouts.

The song, the twisting, and the eye contact between Cloudy and me all come to an abrupt end, leaving me wondering,
What was
that
?

The chandeliers overhead switch on as She Loves You exits the stage to applause.

“I’ll ride home with you guys,” Jade announces, “since you’re
staying at my house and all. But I want to introduce you to Theresa after she’s done packing up.”

“Don’t you mean ‘Prudence’?” Cloudy teases.

Jade gives a dismissive wave. “Eh. Show’s over. She’s Theresa again. Want to get milkshakes while we wait?”

I nod, but Cloudy narrows her eyes. “Wait. You said last summer you’re lactose intolerant.”

Jade laughs. “Hey, I’ll say whatever it takes to keep Ashlyn from forcing her disgusting yogurt-kale-avocado smoothies on me.”

The present-tense slipup is jarring—like Ashlyn can run a blender any old time. All three of us go silent.

“I’m sorry,” Jade says.

“It’s fine.” Cloudy shrugs. “She also added kiwi and banana to those drinks and they were delicious. But, yes, a milkshake sounds good.” She heads through the crowd, back up the stairs, and into the dark alleyway with Jade and me behind her.

Cloudy’s on edge again and my stomach clenches. Her sandals slap, slap, slap ahead of us, while Jade’s heels click, click, click on the concrete next to me.

Jade says, “I can’t believe I’m finally in the presence of the famous Kyle Ryan Ocie.”

Ashlyn started calling me “Kyle Ryan” when we were first getting together, and I called her “Ashlyn Rose.” We didn’t have actual nicknames for each other—just first and middle names. Last names, too, when we were being especially sappy. (“I adore you, Kyle Ryan Ocie.” “And I adore
you
, Ashlyn Rose Montiel.”)

“I’m really not famous,” I tell Jade.

“Sure you are. We’ve never met, yet I’m able to first-middle-last name you. That should tell you something.”

“I’m able to first and last name you, Jade Decker. Maybe you’re famous.”

With a smile, Jade shakes her head. “Um, no. First and last name? Not the same at all.”

Cloudy reaches the door first, and Jade and I follow her into Astro Burger. From the outside, the place is generic, but inside, it has a 1950s theme with tiny jukeboxes at each table.

“I want to enjoy the nonfreezingness of LA as much as possible,” Cloudy says, standing in line. “You two go grab one of those outside tables. I’ll buy the shakes, which also means I get to surprise you.”

Jade and I do as we’re told, and settle in across from each other at a round table with an umbrella on the lit-up patio. “Tell me the truth,” she says. “How’s Cloudy been doing since . . . you know. Everything that happened with Ashlyn?”

It’s weird—someone asking a question like that about Cloudy. A million times weirder still that
I’m
the person being asked. For the first time, someone’s assuming I’m not the one who’s most wrecked over Ashlyn’s death. “She’s all right, I think.”